


Second Choice

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unrequited Love, poor carver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver Hawke comes to Skyhold, excited to see Commander Cullen. They reunite, but it doesn't go as Carver had hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dragon Age Kink Meme
> 
> Once the Inquisitor sides with and secures the Templar Order, Cullen sends for his favourite recruit to come join him.
> 
> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13275.html?thread=50539483#t50539483

Carver looked up at the towers of Skyhold, and felt his jaw drop a little. People had talked about the castle, the new headquarters of the rising Inquisition, but he hadn’t expected _this_. A castle that seemed to touch the sky, radiating a sense of power and protection unlike anything he’d ever seen. The red-orange sky of oncoming evening made the silhouette loom large and imposing against the glinting snow on the mountain.  
  
He followed his traveling companions across the drawbridge, and couldn’t help gaping at the sheer size of the towers and the amount of people scurrying around the courtyard. He saw a few other Templars, in addition to the ones he arrived with, and felt slightly better. He knew that the Inquisition had recruited the Templars, but he had seen so few true Knights of the Order traveling east to Skyhold. The only ones they had encountered were corrupted by red lyrium, and Carver had to fight them off. Even knowing they were trying to kill and infect him, their deaths offered Carver no solace.  
  
A soldier approached from somewhere — honestly Carver couldn’t keep track of anyone but the people whose faces he already knew — to lead them to the stables. As he dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a stablehand, someone called out to them from behind. He turned and did a double-take at the person walking toward him. _It’s not possible…_ For a moment, he thought his brother stood before him, sending a pang of hurt through his chest. The full dark beard, the confident gait, the staff on his back, all these parts made him think Garrett walked out of the Fade just to find him. After the initial rush of hope-fear-hurt, he took a good look at the visitor and realized it was not his brother. His heart sank a little.  
  
The details came into focus slowly: the man had wider cheekbones, an open grin, a lankier frame, and the green mark on his left hand confirmed Carver’s suspicions. He saluted. “Hello, Inquisitor.”  
  
The man’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, as if he didn’t expect everyone in Thedas to recognize him at this point. “Greetings, welcome to Skyhold.” Carver saw his eyes drop to the emblem on his breastplate, and back up to his face.  
  
“I am Knight-Lieutenant Carver. We received message through Captain Rylen that Commander Cullen requested our presence here.”  
  
“Yes, of course. Welcome.” He found a soldier standing to attention nearby, and waved him over. “Please escort the Knight-Lieutenant and his men to the barracks.” He turned back to Carver with an open smile. “I will let you rest, and I hope we will see you at dinner in the Hall?”  
  
Carver nodded and bowed before walking away. The Inquisitor seemed nice enough, but his uncanny resemblance to his brother made Carver uncomfortable.  
  
He followed the soldier, observing the motley group accumulated at Skyhold. He saw many Templars, soldiers with Inquisition emblems, Orlesian nobles, merchants… More people than he had seen since leaving Kirkwall, which was always crowded and dirty. As they climbed up the stairs to the battlements, he heard a familiar voice call his name.  
  
Carver swallowed and felt a rush of anticipation in his gut. He turned and saw Commander Cullen standing just outside an open door.  
  
“Carver,” his voice sounded hopeful, reassuring, happy. Carver grinned and walked toward his former Knight-Captain. His face was warm and welcoming, but Carver noticed the dark circles, the extra wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and the tired look in his eyes.  
  
“Commander!” They reached out to grab the other’s arm in greeting, but Cullen pulled Carver into an embrace.  
  
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Cullen whispered into his shoulder, and Carver felt his chest heat at the words. He felt safe in Cullen’s arms, and the tension drained from his shoulders, leaving him loose and warm. They separated but Cullen kept his hands on Carver’s shoulders, and Carver couldn’t help the goofy smile that covered his face.  
  
They examined each other for another long moment, reassuring themselves that each was safe and sound and here. Carver’s smile fell. “I thought you died at Haven. We heard about the avalanche, and the darkspawn, and…” He swallowed the rest of his dark words down.  
  
Cullen patted him on the shoulder and released him entirely. “I thought the same of you. After we found the red lyrium, I feared you had been infected.” He shook his head to rid them of the dark mood. “But enough of that. Get settled into your quarters, and come find me in my office. We shall talk.” The fond smile on Cullen’s face made Carver’s heart beat quicker.  
  
“Yes, Ser.” He saluted and went back to where his fellows waited.  
  
—  
  
Carver knocked on one of the doors to the Commander’s office. He had changed from his Templar armor into more comfortable off-duty clothing, and washed the road-dirt from his face. He still felt grimy after spending the past weeks on horseback, and he admitted he rushed through the motions today in anticipation of seeing Cullen again.  
  
When they served in Kirkwall together, Cullen had taken a special shine to him as a green recruit. Cullen claimed that it was good to have another Ferelden to serve with, but Carver suspected it was mainly to keep an eye on a known associate of his apostate mage brother, whose deeds and status were a badly-kept secret in the city.  
  
Cullen praised Carver’s fighting skill, and took him under his wing to keep him on the straight and narrow. Carver had always found himself in his brother’s shadow, and Cullen was the first one he felt really saw him instead. He had to admit, he developed a sort of hero-worship for the man, and time apart had not dimmed his feelings.  
  
As Carver entered the Commander’s office, he wondered if they would assume the same mentor/mentee relationship, as he was now in charge of what was left of the broken Templar Order.  
  
Cullen still wore his big furry cloak, and only glanced up for a moment to greet Carver with a warm smile, before returning to the paperwork on his desk. “Carver, forgive me, but I must finish a few more reports tonight. It shouldn’t take long.” He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”  
  
He sat in the chair and took the moment to look at the Commander’s office. In some ways, it looked just the same as the one in Kirkwall: immaculately clean, bookshelves full and lined neatly, no personal items, desk overflowing with paperwork that he could hand off to subordinates but prefers to control himself. He noticed a chess set on a low shelf, and remembered Cullen’s lessons that Carver never really absorbed.  
  
Carver tried to keep his eyes on his surroundings, but found them inevitably drawn back to Cullen. His hair looked different, lighter and straighter, and Carver wondered about that. He was still handsome, and exuded power and confidence. The purple smudges under his eyes and the slight tremor in his hand as he wrote made Carver wonder how much of a toll his new role took on him.  
  
After a few more minutes of listening to a quill tip scratching against parchment and the shouts outside of recruits training with the last of the light from the sun, Cullen set down his quill and exhaled. Carver watched as he rubbed his eyes but glanced away as he stretched his shoulders.  
  
“I apologize for making you wait, Carver.” He stood and walked to a bookshelf behind his desk, pulling down a decanter with amber liquid inside. He poured two glasses, and handed one to Carver.  
  
“To the Inquisition,” Carver toasted.  
  
“To old friends,” Cullen said, and Carver felt his heart beat just a bit faster.  
  
They spent a good hour catching up, reminiscing about their friends in Kirkwall, updating each other on how they spent the last few months, laughing and steadily drinking together.  
  
“D’you remember the time Recruit Paxley ran through the mess hall naked?”  
  
Cullen threw his head back in laughter, showing off the long column of his throat. Carver laughed with him but his eyes followed the line from his strong jaw to where it dipped into his shirt collar. His cheeks were flushed and eyes started to grow glazed, from the drink or the heat or the comfortable company, and Carver smiled.  
  
“I do. The Officers couldn’t stop talking about it later, and I actually had to order Knight-Lieutenant Jacobs to punish the offenders.” Carver snorted. Cullen’s amused gaze fell on Carver, and he felt his heart speed up again. “Getting the recruits to spar properly the next day was a nightmare.”  
  
Cullen continued telling the story but Carver couldn’t focus on it any longer. The drink, as usual, distracted him by the smallest things: the scar on Cullen’s lip, his calloused fingers gripping the tumbler, the tips of his ears growing steadily redder as the evening wore on.  
  
“Carver,” he said solemnly, and Carver brought his eyes up. Cullen stared into his glass with a somber expression. “I wanted to tell you something… I stopped taking lyrium.”  
  
Carver blinked. “Stopped… stopped taking lyrium? Really? Is that… you can do that?”  
  
Cullen nodded with a grimace. “Yes. It’s been difficult, and some days I wonder if… but I can’t be leashed to the Chantry any longer.” Carver nodded, and the dark circles under his eyes, the deeper lines around his mouth, the trembling hands all came together. Withdrawal.  
  
“Are you… okay?” Carver’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know of anyone who quit lyrium. The Chantry made it sound impossible, which now in the face of Cullen’s decision seemed like manipulation to keep their own personal army under control. He thought of the older Knights who had been in the Order for decades, the way they lost their memories and their sense of self after taking the stuff for so long.  
  
Cullen didn’t answer for a moment. “Not really, no. I’ve… had nightmares. About Kinloch Hold, about Kirkwall, and Meredith.” Carver nodded, understanding that one at the very least. At the end, Meredith’s madness and corruption destroyed so much. Carver couldn’t imagine how Cullen, her right hand man, dealt with the pressure. Cullen drained his glass of whiskey and set the glass back on his desk gently. He looked up at Carver, locking eyes. “I wanted you to know, it’s possible.”  
  
Carver nodded. Cullen wanted Carver to know he had a _choice_. Even though it was his choice, and Cullen’s, to join the Order, they could leave. Especially now, with the red lyrium menace and no leadership to speak of, Carver could choose his own path, just as Cullen chose his. A memory surfaced of another time Cullen made a choice, even though it upset Carver. He pushed that thought away, not wanting to deal with those thoughts just now.  
  
A knock on the door drew their attention, and Carver silently thanked the Maker for the interruption from his meandering thoughts. He turned to look at the door, and the Inquisitor entered. Carver stood at attention, and the man waved him down. “Please, sit. You don’t need to stand for me. I just wanted to see how you two were getting on.” He smiled and came to stand at the corner of the desk. He studied Carver with incredibly blue eyes, and Carver felt himself shift in his seat. “I didn’t realize when you arrived that you were the recruit Cullen talked about.”  
  
Cullen’s face grew slightly red and Carver felt an answering heat in his belly. “He told you about me?”  
  
“Yes, Carver was one of the best we had in Kirkwall.” His fond smile drew an answering grin from Carver.  
  
The Inquisitor’s gaze seemed to stare into Carver, and he felt himself growing uncomfortable without entirely knowing why. He felt pinned under his stare, and couldn’t help comparing it to his brother’s. Garrett somehow always seemed to know what Carver was thinking, and knew how to push every one of his buttons. Carver hoped now he was less easy to read, especially to a stranger, but he doubted it.  
  
After another moment, the Inquisitor smiled at Carver then looked back at Cullen. “Well, I’ll let you both get back to it. I don’t want to interrupt your happy reunion.” He smiled at Cullen, then bent to press a kiss to his lips.  
  
Carver felt the bottom of his stomach drop out and the world seemed to stop spinning on its axis. Carver couldn’t stop staring as Cullen reached up to place his hand on the Inquisitor’s chest, and as they broke apart, looked at the other man with blissful amazement. He felt the smile freeze on his face, then grow stony and painful.  
  
“I’ll see you later, then?” Cullen’s words snapped Carver out of his thoughts, and he looked one of the bookshelves to avoid seeing whatever passed between the other men. He clenched his fists where they sat on his thighs, and practiced breathing exercises that Templar recruits learned to focus.  
  
Carver managed to look up at the Inquisitor’s goodbye, and heard the door shut behind him. He must have given him a decent farewell, but he had no idea what his face looked like. Carver couldn’t meet Cullen’s eyes, and tense, uncomfortable, horrible silence stretched between them.  
  
“I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” Cullen’s voice sounded apologetic, and that was the last thing Carver wanted right now.  
  
“It’s fine,” he heard himself say distantly, as though he was watching them from a great height. “Why would you be sorry? It’s nothing to me, I don’t need your pity,” he spat out like it was venom in his mouth. “You seem very happy together.” The words felt like razors on his tongue, slicing his lips and his heart. Congratulating the one man he looked up to, the one good man in Kirkwall, the only one he wanted.  
  
“I… I didn’t…” Cullen couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, and Carver couldn’t look at him, and he decided it was time to go. He stood abruptly, knocking into the desk and shaking their half-full glasses of whiskey. Shame and rejection welled in his chest until he felt ready to burst.  
  
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow Knight-Cap— _Commander_ ,” he corrected, and suddenly he was back in Kirkwall feeling rejected and ashamed and so damn young.  
  
Too much of this night reminded him of back then.    
  
He thought of the night Knight-Captain Cullen had invited newly-Knighted Carver into his office for celebratory drinks. Carver had felt so full of joy and acceptance by the Order, by his friends, by Cullen; he thought he might float right into the clouds. He had spent dinner with the other recruits who congratulated him on the promotion and teased him in good measure.    
  
The whiskey had loosened his self-control, which honestly wasn’t great in the first place, and Carver never could hold his tongue and his liquor at the same time.  
  
Cullen looked at him with calm pride. “Congratulations, my knight. Yours is a promotion well-deserved.”  
  
“Thank you Ser!” Carver felt the blood rush into his face and heat suffuse his body. Praise from his Knight-Captain came rarely, but it was always well-deserved. “I can’t believe it.”  
  
Cullen had clapped him on the shoulder and his eyes were bright. Carver felt a pang in his stomach as he looked up into his Captain’s face, and couldn’t help the words that fell from his lips. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Ser. You mean so much to me. I—“ He swallowed, trying to remove the frog in his throat.  
  
Cullen smiled at him and Carver felt the earth below him shift. It was like everything suddenly came into focus, and he understood the tightness in his chest as desire. The warmth he felt when Cullen praised him, the jolt of happiness when he looked up from practicing with other recruits to see Cullen’s eyes on him, the intense shame and heaviness when Cullen scolded him for his transgressions. Oh.  
  
Thankfully, Cullen moved away before Carver could embarrass himself further, and they spent the rest of the evening chatting happily. Carver couldn’t help blushing at any praise he received, and hoped he kept the wide-eyed adoration off his face.  
  
That had been one of the best nights in the Gallows for Carver. A memory followed quickly on its heels of the worst.  
  
The Circle had fallen, and Garrett fled. His support of the mages meant the Templars couldn’t control anyone or anything in the entire damn city, and lacking a Viscount or any leadership left a void. Knight-Captain Cullen stepped in to fill that void, and did as much as he could for a city that no longer respected Templar authority. He spent almost three years fixing and fighting with the nobility and restoring order before he caught the attention of the Divine.  
  
The Knight-Commander and Acting Viscount called Carver, then a Knight-Corporal promoted by Cullen, into his office to break the news to him. Cullen stood behind his desk with his palms flat on the surface when Carver entered, looking like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He stood up straight and folded his hands behind his back. “The Divine is working to restore the Inquisition. I have been recruited to lead the army as their Commander.”  
  
Cullen looked at Carver evenly as he spoke, as Carver’s world tipped upside-down. He was going to work for the Divine? “You… you’re leaving?” Carver took a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. “But… you can’t!”  
  
Cullen smiled at him indulgently, as if he was a child pouting over losing a toy. “Carver, I can’t stay here forever.” His condescension made Carver see red, and he clenched his fists at his sides to try and keep calm.  
  
“No, fuck that,” he said to Cullen and to himself. “You can’t just leave us! Kirkwall needs you. It would be in shambles without you here to fix what my brother did.” The thought of Kirkwall without Cullen seemed like a bleak future, one in which the city didn’t survive. It would fall to pieces, leaderless, without someone to care for it and protect it from itself.  
  
Cullen nodded. Carver saw the way he restrained himself, but didn’t know if it was to keep from yelling at Carver or something else. “Yes, but I can’t keep the city together forever. The nobility will hardly listen to me, and they’ll only choose a real Viscount when there is a pressing need. That time is now.” His eyes softened as he looked at Carver. “The Inquisition is going to do so much more than fix one little city. They need me, and I think I need them.”  
  
Carver’s stomach roiled, and he worried for a moment he might vomit and embarrass himself more. “But, Ser…” He swallowed, bolstering his courage. “I need you, Ser. Please. Stay here, with me. I…” His heart beat rapidly in his chest, making his hands shake at his sides and the blood rush to his face. “I love you. I need you.”  
  
Cullen looked down at his desk, unable to meet Carver’s eyes any longer. When his eyes dropped, Carver knew what was coming. Cullen never shied from anything, and if he was going to now… The pain in his chest expanded until it rushed through his whole body. “Carver, I…” Carver turned away to face the hearth where a fire blazed merrily. He could hear the rejection in the way Cullen said his name, lacking the warmth and the camaraderie that existed before. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe… I just don’t feel that way, about men, you see…”  
  
The silence pressed in on Carver like a weight. Shame and rejection and pain blazed through him like a wildfire, consuming and destroying every other emotion within him. The prickling behind his eyes burned and ached, and there wasn’t a part of Carver that didn’t hurt, now. He took three deep breaths before he mastered himself. He turned back to Cullen, whose face looked awkward and pained. “Thank you for telling me about your departure, Knight-Commander.” Carver made his voice as cool and detached as he could, but he couldn’t keep it from wobbling at the man’s title. “I wish you the best on your journeys.”  
  
“Carver, wait,” he heard Cullen say as he pivoted on his heel and left the office. He managed to keep the tears from his eyes until he returned to his quarters, completely skipping the duties he was meant to finish. He leaned back against the door and felt the ripping and rending inside his chest. He slid down and let himself cry.  
  
He felt the echo of that pain, and the fresh wound of seeing Cullen kiss the Inquisitor, in his chest. He swallowed against the prickling behind his eyes. How could he be so stupid, to think that coming to Skyhold would change anything. That a year later, things would be any different.  
  
Cullen called out to him as Carver’s hand touched the doorknob, and he paused. He closed his eyes and gripped the handle tightly as he heard the other man moving out from behind his desk. “Carver, I’m sorry. I don’t…”  
  
“That’s right, you didn’t.” Carver reared on Cullen, feeling the pain of rejection turn to rage in his gut. “It’s not enough for you to be with the Inquisitor, the Herald of bloody _Andraste_ , to be with another _man_ even though you said you didn’t like men. No. He has to look just like Garrett! My fucking brother, who he left in the Fade to die!” Everyone had always liked Garrett better. It was just a fact, a bloody awful fact that Carver resented for his whole life. And now, here was proof that Cullen, the only good person who liked him over his brother, chose another man who reminded Carver every minute of the shadow he lived in.  
  
At the thought of his brother, the dam burst and Carver felt the hot tears fall down his face. Cullen reached out a hand, as if to comfort him, but Carver slapped it away with a shout. “No, you don’t get to do that. You can’t just ignore me while you’re here, working for the Inquisiton, not writing one bloody letter to me in Kirkwall, while I had to deal with the shit you left! I thought you died in Haven!” He heard his voice crack. “I didn’t get a word from you, before or after! I mourned for you!” Carver felt a savage stab of pride when Cullen’s face paled at the pain in his voice, the accusation flung at him.  
  
“I only found out you lived when we got to Griffon Wing Keep and Rylen mentioned you. You don’t know how bloody relieved I was. I thought… You can’t ignore me for so long, pretend I don’t exist, pretend my feelings don’t exist, so you can feel comfortable for rejecting me. You’re with him, and you let him…” A sob choked him and the rage erupted in a clumsy fist swung at Cullen. The other man darted out of his path, and Carver felt the fight leave his body as quickly as it came on.  
  
Carver panted and tried to stop the flow of tears from his face. “Carver…”  
  
Carver shook his head in a sharp jerk. “No. I need to go. I can’t…” He pulled the door with all his force, a small and petty part of him wanting to pull it off its hinges, and slammed it against the wall. He stalked out into the night.  
  
He walked along the battlements until he got to the furthest point he could find away from Cullen’s tower. He stopped and looked out at the dark mountains and valleys surrounding the quiet castle. Carver screamed into the darkness, a howl full of pain and rage, until he heard dogs barking with him. He collapsed leaning against the stone balustrade.  
  
The rage had left, but in its place was a sore wound, a tender part of him that he wanted to cover and protect. He regretted letting his hopes get up when he read the request from the Commander for him, personally, Carver Hawke, to attend to the Inquisition. He would always just be the little brother, the second choice, the afterthought.  
  
He sat, alone and cold and _not crying,_ for a long time. He had enough to drink that he couldn’t tell time with any reliability, but he heard the bells chime at two different intervals, and saw guards walk past him with questioning looks. No one interrupted him until a familiar dwarven silhouette walked up.  
  
“Hey Junior, I heard you were here. You didn’t even come to greet your old friend Varric? I’m wounded.”  
  
Carver didn’t lift his eyes from the stone beneath him at his brother’s friend’s cajoling tone. “I’m not in the mood, Varric.”  
  
“Well obviously.” Varric huffed out an impatient breath. “I think I should have called you Broody instead.” He hesitated and must have seen something in Carver’s body language or his silence, and he sat down on the stone beside him. “Want to talk about it?”  
  
Carver shook his head wordlessly. Varric nodded and looked away from Carver. He let the silence stretch out between them, knowing when to push and when to let the other person lick their wounds in silence.  
  
Varric put a hand on his shoulder, and Carver let his head fall between his knees and cried.


End file.
